Holey spot
by Remus-Chocolade
Summary: You don't get your ear blasted off without any side-effects, as George soon discovers. Luckily Fred is by his side to support, ridicule and intoxicate him. One-shot at the night before the wedding.


**AN: Of course I do not own anything of the characters, places, etc, just the tiny idea. Enjoy!**

George shifted in his bed for probably the hundred time in half an hour. The bloody hole in his head wouldn't leave him alone, shifting on a dull beating and a searing pain. Now it was just changing again, building up to searing.

"You all right over there?" Fred said sleepy when hearing his twin turn around yet again and give a heavy moan.

"Splendid," George retorted with a groan. "My head hurts like a fucking train have been driven into it." The next groan was closer to a growl and he sat up, burying his face in his hands. The extra flow of blood as he leaned forward seemed to help a little.

"That bad?" Fred said as he too sat up and swung his feet down on the floor.

"Worse," George muttered and pressed his hands to his ear and where the other had been a few days previous.

"Want something for it?" Fred asked and yawned.

"Yes, I fucking want something to make it stop and I've already emptied all we have of pain-potions," George answered as Fred came to sit beside him.

"I know," he said calmly. "I meant something a little stronger."

"Like what?" George slumped back against the wall and regretted it as he banged the back of his head.

"If I remember correctly, it's still quite a batch of Firewhisky downstairs." Fred grinned. George groaned, but managed a small smile.

"So what are we still doing here?" he said and raised his throbbing head a bit.

"You tell me," Fred answered and got to his feet. George followed, but his balance seemed to be a bit off and he put a hand to Fred's shoulders. "Good?"

"No, terrible," George answered lightly. They went out the door and down the stairs as quietly as possible with the house full of potential fun-killers, now sleeping soundly.

"Shit, I forgot Mum and Dad were sleeping down here," Fred whispered when they entered the sitting-room. With a shrug Fred still manoeuvred around their parents' makeshift bed and over to the cabinet. Opening it, he took out two bottles and examined them in the light of his wand, nodded, and went back to George.

"Nauseating, isn't it?" George commented and inclined his head towards Molly and Arthur, embracing each other even in sleep.

"Quite," Fred agreed and went back to the kitchen. George rubbed the side of his head while following him, the pain was reaching a peak. Fred had taken out two big glasses and filled them almost to the brim.

"Cheers," George said and raised one of them before taking half of the content in one gulp.

"Cheers to you too," Fred answered and sat down before taking a sip. "Bad time to remember painkilling-potions and booze mix badly."

"I don't give a flying fuck," George answered and took another big swallow. "I want to sleep!"

"Keep it down, imagine Mum's reaction if she found us here drinking," Fred told him. George gave a dry laughter before covering the side of his head with his palm and groaned. "Your holey spot's giving you a rough time?"

"Holey spot? Yeah, you could say." George refilled his glass and lighted the candle on the table. "Was worse yesterday, but then I had more to ease it with."

"Should buy more of that strong stuff. What was it called?" Fred drank the whisky slowly, but George threw down as much as possible to get relaxed enough to sleep.

"Don't remember. The bottle still stands there, so..." George belched. "Say, where would dear Charles hide his cigarettes?"

"Probably his coat-pocket," Fred said before getting up and out in the entrance hall. Searching in the dark wasn't easy, but the smell of dragon and burn combined with the feeling of leather sat him on track pretty fast. "Here." He threw the pack on the table and George helped himself.

"Hangover at wedding, big hit," George muttered as he lighted the smoke.

"You won't be the only one, since they're throwing his bachelor party tonight," Fred commented as he too took a cigarette. "And it's probably boring as hell, since we're stuck here." Bill had told them they were too young and he didn't want them there, still Charlie had been allowed.

"You know, we should turn his clothes pink or something for that," George said.

"In the middle of the ceremony. 'William, do you take this foxy lady to be your bed-mate for eternity." Fred had lowered his voice to a dull speech. "_Zap!_ 'What the hell!'" George cracked up as the last was a good imitation of their oldest brother. "Fleur would declare it magnificent and snog him on the spot."

"And Mum would spank us into the next century." George looked down in his glass to find it almost empty.

"She haven't done that in years," Fred reminded him as he filled their glasses again. "When we set off all those fireworks." Both twins got a rather dreamy expression.

"That was good," George recalled. "But not as good as when she dragged us off to visit Muriel." He did a face of disgust, tugging at the muscles and set off his holey spot again.

"Mum knew we would do something, even at our 'best behaviour.'" Fred shook his head slowly. "But that old bat sure know how to slap. Hopefully she won't repeat that tomorrow."

"You think that hurt? I'm starting to see why people go mad from the Crucio," George snapped back and massaged the dully throbbing spot before draining his glass.

"I'd take it for you, if it was any way," Fred said quietly.

"I wouldn't let you," George told him. "Share it, yes, gladly, but not take it all. At least it gives me an excuse to be moody."

"Help any?" Fred pointed to the glass.

"Not much," George groaned. "And I don't see what Charlie sees in these, it's disgusting." He glared at the cigarette as Fred summoned a small plate for them to use as an ashtray.

"Then why are you smoking it?" Fred asked and tried blowing a ring.

"Merlin knows." George rubbed his face with one hand, wishing the pain would just stop, just for long enough to get some proper sleep.

"You know, Fleur probably got a whole load of cousins," Fred remarked. George just stared at him. "Quarter-Veela cousins. Single, gullible and dying to know all about the British way of life."

"And we should be no less than willing to teach them some of that," George finished and grinned. "If I survive tonight." He pressed his hand to the most painful spot and winced on purpose.

"Hey, nothing can kill you," Fred said. "Except maybe Mum. And Fleur, if you happen to hurl on her dress. And your own guilt if I get all the sexy Veelas."

"Fine, I'll survive tonight if you insist," George mock-sighed. "Bed's starting to sound better again." His head was either hurting less or he was getting better at ignoring it.

"Remind me again, why are we sleeping here at all?" Fred said as he drained his glass.

"I would, but I think I'm too pissed," George retorted.

"That's good, at least. Oh yeah, we were stupid enough to promise helping in the morning," Fred said as he stood up.

"You mean, you promised helping when Fleur batted her eyelashes and showed an inch of cleavage," George said and yawned.

"Because you were too busy drooling," Fred retorted. "Come on, matey." Fred placed an arm around George's back and together they got up the stairs and to the camp-beds set up in their father's office.

"And for further occasions, I was not drooling," George said as he fell over on his bed and pressed his palms to the sides of his head.

"You need to get laid," Fred muttered as he levitated his own bed closer to his twin's.

"What's this about?" George asked as their beds now made one big and Fred scootched in beside him.

"Just thought it'll be nice," Fred said innocently and placed his own hands to where George's had been a moment earlier. "Now, take a deep breath and relax."

"Yes, _Mum!" _George still obeyed and realised how tired he was. "And I'll get laid tomorrow, so don't worry."

"And how will you manage that?" Fred snickered and laid closed so he didn't need to strain his arms.

"Simple, play the victim. They get one look at that bleeding hole in my head, I use my wonderful puppy-dog eyes and voíla, one shag guaranteed." George yawned again.

"You don't have puppy-dog eyes. Ginny have, Bill too if he really wants to, but not you," Fred whispered.

"Then neither do you," George retorted.

"Don't need them, I have two ears to show off."

"But you can't play victim, you haven't lost as much as a toe-nail."

"I almost lost you," Fred said very quietly.

"Yeah, but you didn't, so stop wallowing in self-pity." George grinned to him through the dark.

"Fine, if that's the way you want it," Fred said pretend-hurt and turned around.

"Thanks," George whispered and slid his arm around Fred's chest. If it was the alcohol, potions or lack of sleep making the pain ease, it didn't matter and he relaxed against his twin's chest, happy he was there.

"Any time, little brother," Fred retorted, but George had already started snoring.

--

"Rise and shine!" Fred forced George's eyes open in the morning, causing the latter to wrench around and hide his face in the pillow.

"Don't wanna," he muttered and swallowed hard.

"Well, then I'll just leave you here 'til Mum shows up," Fred said airy and sat up, sorting through the heap of clothes on the floor. George slowly sat up too and groaned.

"Why the hell did you give me _Firewhisky_ last night?" he said quietly.

"'Couse your mind was leaking out of that hole," Fred retorted.

"Thanks to you I'm gonna start the day by hurling." George got to his feet and moaned as the room didn't stop spinning, but found the bathroom and knelt down in front of the toilet. In the meantime Fred had thrown on some clothes, annoyed every redhead out of bed and was whistling as he descended the last stairs to the kitchen.

"Charlie," his mother was scolding. "I told you I don't mind you smoking as long as it wasn't in the house!" She held the pack of cigarettes hard between her fingers, almost crushing it.

"Actually, she do mind a great deal," Fred muttered as he passed his older brother.

"I haven't smoked here! I fell asleep on a couch and would very much like a glass of water now and, if it would be allowed, a smoke which I'll take outside, halfway to Antarctica!" Charlie rubbed his forehead in frustration and Fred had a hard time not bursting out in laughter.

"No, someone have smoked here, and had several drinks. No one else here smoke as far as I know," Molly went on.

"As far as you know, indeed," Fred added under his breath, still Charlie caught it and turned to him, arms crossed.

"Let's do a little math," he began, glaring. "Two glasses, would make sense with two people. Just two buds, so they either had a short party or aren't used to smoking. Are happy with letting others take the blame for their actions... I think I know someone like that." He turned to their mother to follow up.

"Well, I don't have time for you now anyway, I have a breakfast to make," she said absently while going through the pantry.

"Great snot-rag," Charlie said and picked up the cigarettes she had put on the table again, making sure to shove Fred in the passing. "Where's your partner in crime, by the way?"

Exactly where George was at that moment, Bill soon discovered.

"Not feeling too well?" the oldest asked when George emerged from another stomach-turner.

"No, I'm grand, it just seemed like such a fun idea to fill my sinuses with stomach-acid." He blew his nose on a big wad of paper and leaned back.

"Like it seemed a good idea to get drunk yesterday?" Bill took out a small, blue bottle from the first aid-cabinet.

"Please, let me have some," George begged when recognising it as sobering potion. "Please!"

"No," Bill said and took a gulp. George got shaking to his feet, ready to fight for the bottle. One set of beating in his head was enough, the sick feeling and second throbbing he could do without. "Just kidding, here," Bill said and handed over the potion.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" George said before draining the bottle.

"Only when you want something from me, or I have just given it to you. Or have broken some of my stuff," Bill retorted. George just sighed, everything felt better now, even his holey spot was easing off. "Now, I would suggest you got some clothes on. Unless you want Gabrielle to see you like that and never stop giggling."

"Aye-aye, captain," George retorted and headed back to their temporary bedroom to dress. As he arrived downstairs he was almost tackled by Ginny, going up to find something, or murder someone, it was hard to tell from her mutterings.

"Hey, over here," Fred called from the drive-up, a picnic basket hanging from one hand.

"And what's more important than breakfast?" George asked, throwing a longing look at the bacon in the pan before joining his twin.

"This." Fred pointed to the basket. "Our simple guarantee for, how should I put it? A successful night." George cocked an eyebrow, it was limited space for fireworks in that thing. "Oh no, nothing like that, my dear brother, just simply a couple of blankets, pillows, sweets... Things to get comfortable outdoors."

"And make the Veelas more likely to put out." They weren't stupid enough to let the girls get their dresses dirty, their experience had shown few girls had the humour to take that kind of things with a smile.

"So, we'll put this somewhere among the trees, maybe even lay it out and make it look really mushy," Fred said.

"Preferably at a safe distance," George said, and he meant both from the main party and each other.

"Sounds like a plan. This wedding'll be the best that ever happened to you!" Fred threw his arm jovially around George's shoulders.

"You're never gonna stop mocking me, are you?"

"Not 'til the day I die. Maybe I'll even come back and haunt you, just to remind you who scored first." Fred grinned, but George shook the arm off. "Feeling holey again?" Fred hadn't missed the slight frown on George's face.

"A tad. Come, let's get this set up. And remember, it's not when you do it, it's with whom." George's grin returned as he grabbed for the handle of the basket.

"Keep telling yourself that," Fred said airy as they headed for the orchard.

**AN: Written during some of my most agonising nights. Heard of tension headache? I'm sure you do. What about tension jawache? Anyway, the inner geek in me had to process it into something involving Weasleys. I would appreciate a review, if you got a minute, telling me if I had failed horrendously. Just had to show the boys' soft side peeking out a tiny bit, just to be scuffled off with jokes again. Enough babbling? I think so.**


End file.
